


Cast in Rays of Silver

by Hanatamago



Series: Hana's AsheDue Week 2020 [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ashedue Week 2020, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Post-Canon, Scars, The Ending Where Dedue Actually Gets to Rebuild Duscur, The Inherent Messiness of Reparations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:20:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23546779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hanatamago/pseuds/Hanatamago
Summary: “You’ve never asked about them.” Ashe murmurs. The scars on his back, he means. Deep, scoring cuts that never fully healed. They’re old - much older than the war. It’s true, he can’t place them, but he’s long found peace with that fact.“You would tell me if you wished me to know." The bond they share grants Dedue permission to know Ashe’s heart, not his past. He has never liked to talk about his worst years, and Dedue would never push.Day 4 of AsheDue Week: ScarsM to be safe for mentions of Ashe's past, the violence of war, and implied sexual content.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Dedue Molinaro
Series: Hana's AsheDue Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1701187
Comments: 9
Kudos: 64





	Cast in Rays of Silver

“Dedue!” Ashe whines as he lets his face fall into the squishy down-feather pillows. Quiet, comfortable laughter rumbles from behind him. He squeezes his eyes shut, sinking into the soft, cream-colored bedding. It’s one of the only luxuries they’d agreed to take on their travels, and every night, Ashe thanks all the gods that they did.

“Relax.” Dedue whispers. He leans down to press a kiss just below his ear. Ashe shivers, shudders, even. It’s not fair how his coarse stubble just barely scratches the curve of his jaw when he does that, and how just the tiniest sensation sets his whole body alight. And it’s doubly not fair because Dedue _knows_ that. That sneaky, devilishly observant man knows exactly what he’s doing, because, after so many moons, he’s learned a thing or two about Ashe’s body.

“Harder, please?” Ashe blushes and buries his face further into the pillows. Dedue’s had him like this before, many times. He knows what Ashe likes, but it never hurts to ask. 

Ah - not like - it’s nothing like _that_ , nothing lewd! Well, er, they’ve done that kind of thing too, but it’s a little too early in the evening for that. 

Dedue presses his thumbs in between Ashe’s shoulder blades, working out of knot after knot of twisted muscle. As it turns out, building a row of new houses can really make you tense, and Dedue has seemingly magical hands. For all the knots in his back, Duscur reconstruction is going well. The crown has given them a lot of gold to work with, no repayment necessary. There are some strings attached, policy dictating some of it has to go to farms, some to education, and some to encourage trade with Fódlan. All things they would have done anyway, but Ashe supposes it’s good to put it in writing. With Dedue leading the efforts, everything goes relatively smoothly.

Still, undoing the Tragedy - and everything that happened after that - it’s difficult work, and it takes time. It’s stressful, sometimes thankless. So, 'relatively' smoothly is the best they could have hoped for, really. There are still so many people that don’t trust one or the both of them. There are Duscurs who spit on the crown’s gold, and that scorn Dedue’s loyalty to the Kingdom. Battalions and battalions of Kingdom soldiers were discharged from the war, and they got antsy - Ashe knows that firsthand from seeing Felix’s reluctant rise to dukedom. They needed something to do, but Kingdom soldiers that would actually be willing to help rebuild the land they mistakenly razed? Those are few and far between. 

It’s emotional, not logical. It’s half shame and embarrassment, half deeply entrenched prejudice. It’s all wound into their hearts and heads, so seeing proof of Duscur’s innocence, or declarations of trade and support for Duscur’s rise to independence, none of that mattered. Only by slowly, carefully building empathy can they try to repair the damage that has been done.

It’s hard to even find merchants willing to trade in this part of the north, but they find them. Mostly old Alliance traders and the odd sailor willing to cross colder seas. They provide Duscurs with gold and tools to re-develop their own trades and become self-sufficient, but it’s slow going. The land is still mending. Even with rich soil from the south, it’ll be a long while before they can grow enough to feed themselves without assistance from the Kingdom. Bread is no substitute for economic independence, but it’s a necessary step to get them back on their feet. No one needs to starve, no one needs to suffer.

This is what it was all for, right? Harmony, peace, freedom for Duscur. But there’s still so much vitriol. So much hate and division, and of course it’ll take time to mend. Ashe just wishes they wouldn’t direct their anger at Dedue. His shoulders are probably just as stiff as Ashe’s, but Ashe has never been as good at giving massages. He still does, on occasion, he just can’t compare. That’s alright, though, Ashe pays him back in other ways.

Dedue’s fingers glide upwards to his shoulders, then to his neck. He carefully kneads the skin under his scarred palms, drawing out all manner of muffled moans and sighs that Ashe would’ve been awfully embarrassed about years ago. It’s Dedue’s fault, he’s way too good at this. He stops Ashe’s thoughts dead in their tracks. For the next little while, Ashe drifts, blissfully at peace as he curls his fists into the sheets and lets Dedue unwind his muscles until they burn pleasantly.

“You are working too hard.” Dedue kisses Ashe’s cheek before withdrawing to retrieve a teapot from a small stand by the fireplace. Mint, even though Ashe insisted Dedue pick tonight.

“You’re not allowed to say that, Lord Royal Grants Don’t Count as Work So I Can Write Them Before Bed.” Ashe pushes himself up to a sitting position to lie back against the headboard. Dedue stokes the fire before pouring them each a cup of tea, which is definitely not a super sexy thing to do, but Goddess, he’s _breathtaking_ these days, so everything he does is, in fact, super sexy. 

The war has been over for nearly three and a half years, but you’d never know from looking at him. He’s still just as strong as he was then, but peacetime Dedue uses his muscles to lift beams for the ceilings and slabs of bricks for the walls instead of slashing down enemies. The pink in his scars has faded to a lovely silvery-white, and his hair falls to the middle of his back when he doesn’t have it pulled up. In Ashe’s humble opinion, it’s got to count as some sort of crime if he ever cuts it short again.

“Is that an official title? I’ll have to let Dimitri know.” Dedue cocks an eyebrow as he brings two short mugs of tea to their bedside table. That part is new too - Dedue being able to call Dimitri by his name. And Ashe is supposed to do it too, as Dedue’s partner, but he still has a hard time getting over the fact that they’re on a first-name basis with the _king_. And not just the king of the Kingdom, the king of _all of Fódlan_ and how can you not be nervous about that kind of thing?!

Ashe glances over to the small side table, where his silver chain lies in a tiny lump, spilling over a thin silver band. His ring carries a simple jade stone in the center, Dedue’s carries an amethyst in the same place. One piece of a matching set, marking him as Dedue’s fiancé/husband. Fiancé, because they haven’t had _time_ with all the work involved in re-founding a nation, and husband, because if they never get time, then Ashe is definitely counting the time he kissed Dedue in front of Byleth as officially officiated. 

Ashe tugs him back into bed, settling in his lap as he sits at the edge.

“Hmmm… No, I like you better as _Sir Molinaro_.” Ashe whispers, delighting in the way Dedue stiffens under his hands. “My knight…” He’s not above playing dirty, not in the slightest. Ashe’s lips slowly trail downwards, pausing to kiss over a deep scar just above his collarbone. A handaxe from an Imperial soldier in Enbarr. Dedue’s grip on his hips tightens.

“The tea will go cold.” He warns. One rough palm brushes against his skin, settling on the small of his back. Dedue is a man of sense, but it’s Ashe’s goal for the night to ruin that, isn’t it? And with that silent, fiery hunger in Dedue’s eyes, he knows he’s winning. He slowly pushes Dedue back onto the blankets, thumbing over the thin dash of silver cutting through his lips. The tiny line of scar tissue that’s explored every inch of his body over the years. 

Ashe gazes down at Dedue with an innocent little smile. “We can warm it back up, can’t we?”

* * *

Moonlight peeks through the cabin’s window. Dedue splits the last pour of tea between their two mugs. Ashe is curled up in the blankets, reading a thin novel by the candlelight - one of Bernadetta’s, he mentioned. It’s a story about a band of kids attending a school for wizardry and witchcraft, ‘except the magic is very different from reason and faith magic, and they have all sorts of scary monsters, but nice ones, too’, by Ashe’s description. He still keeps a few of his knights’ tales on hand, and the village children always love it when he reads to them, though perhaps they just love Ashe. Dedue would understand. There’s valor and glory in knights’ tales, but after their war, Ashe says they don't read quite the same to him. Dedue understands that too.

He refused the knighthood offered to him after the war. At first, Dedue didn’t understand why. It had been Ashe’s dream, after all. However, in a way, he’s already lived up to that dream fully. Title or not, Ashe is kind and chivalrous. He’s always lived to help those in need. That hasn’t changed. Ashe has always been the brightest star in his sky. 

Dedue settles back into the bed and wraps his arm around Ashe’s waist, idly kissing along the tips of silvery streaks that race down his shoulder blades. Over the years, he’s memorized the shape of Ashe, complete with each freckle and scar. Most, he can remember. Two star-shaped scars on his left flank recall their battle at the Bridge of Myrddin, where an archer caught him off guard. A jagged gash on his right side marks where a particularly nimble swordsman managed to land a hit on him with a wicked blade. Scattered between his ribs are a few deep cuts from lancers trained against cavalry, soldiers that nearly killed him as they neared Enbarr. For saving Ashe, and for all the rest, he wills the gods to grant Mercedes great happiness in this life and the next.

“You’ve never asked about them.” Ashe murmurs. The scars on his back, he means. Deep, scoring cuts that never fully healed. They’re old - much older than the war. It’s true, he can’t place them, but he’s long found peace with that fact.

“You would tell me if you wished me to know. Otherwise, they are in the past.” Curious as he may be, Dedue doesn’t wish to reopen such deep wounds. There are some things he will never ask Ashe to recall if it is a burden. The bond they share grants Dedue permission to know Ashe’s heart, not his past. He has never liked to talk about his worst years, and Dedue would never push.

“Do they bother you?” He shuts the book with a soft thump, setting it aside.

“No.” Dedue answers without a beat of hesitation. It would be hypocritical for Dedue to be squeamish about Ashe’s scars, given his own. Besides that, they are a part of him, as deeply woven into his being as his virtue or spirit. Without his scars, he might not have grown into the man he is today. Even so, he wishes for a world where neither of them had to suffer so.

“I stole some potatoes when I was eight or so.” Ashe pulls Dedue’s hand from his waist to his heart and laces their fingers together, “I got caught.”

Eight. Over a decade ago, nearly two. They are miles and miles north of Gaspard, and whoever carried out such a cruel punishment had likely already fallen in the war. There is nothing to be done, and yet Dedue’s blood simmers still. “That is barbaric.”

“I know what I did was wrong, but…” Ashe trembles. Bitter laughter spills from his lips, unnatural and sharp.

“That is hardly the point. Such a punishment is not right.” The corners of his mouth sink into a frown. “For a child? It is unthinkable.”

“It was awful.” He turns over, sage eyes shining with tired, unshed tears. “A-and you know, it didn’t stop me from stealing again as soon as I could… I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t let them starve.”

Dedue pulls Ashe into his chest, laying a gentle kiss to his forehead. “You never should have needed to steal.” 

“I know, Dedue.” Ashe clutches his hand tight. “No child should ever have to suffer like that. That’s why we can’t ever let it happen - never again, okay?”

“Never again. Not here.” Faerghus failed Ashe and his siblings. Lord Lonato may have taken them in, but it never should have come to that. For their supposed civility, Fódlaners had a terribly narrow sense of community. It would not happen again, not in this land. Together, they would build a new world, one where childhoods were not cut so short after a tragedy. One where each village truly looked after their own.

“Do they bother you?”

“You asked me that before.”

“I did, but now you know the story.” Ashe tucks his face into the pillow, “So I’m asking again.” A silent moment passes as Dedue gathers his thoughts, but Ashe doesn’t push. He is often slow to speak, preferring to choose the right words rather than speak recklessly. Ashe knows that by now.

“They anger me.” He traces down a length of scar tissue. “The thought of you in pain… bothers me greatly. However, the scars do not. They are a part of you, and nothing of you could bother me, Ashe.”

“You always seem to know exactly what to say.” Ashe’s smile always manages to brighten the room, no matter where they stay. In worn tents on their march to Enbarr, the palace in Fhirdiad, here, in an empty, half-finished cabin, he is a constant in Dedue’s world. A radiant star, bright as the one Fódlaners claim their Goddess has made her home.

“I speak only the truth.”

“Come on, let’s get some sleep.” Ashe leans over to blow out the candles on the side table. “We’ve got a big day ahead of us.” 

Tomorrow, they would start construction on the village’s temple. Finding traditional Duscur stonemasons had been near impossible, but as the nation stitched itself back together, bit by bit, whispers of the culture he once knew began to bloom once again. As the land flowered, there was no one Dedue would rather have by his side than Ashe.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on Twitter :)  
> [@hanatamagos](https://twitter.com/hanatamagos)


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